


Special

by PuraVesania



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Bulges, F/M, Nooks, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:18:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8645557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuraVesania/pseuds/PuraVesania
Summary: This is just an extra from an RP my husband and I are doing. I'm mostly posting it here so I'll never lose it. 
During drone season.  Larken has been rejected by the troll he cares for, and downward spirals into the arms of an available troll.





	

When Larken woke up the next evening, he realized two things before he even opened his eyes: One, he was surrounded by a familiar, pleasant musky smell. Two, he was warm. Really warm. Too warm. He felt sticky with sweat and what was likely genetic material. 

'The fuck..'

Something shifted behind him, an arm tightening around his waist, and last night came rushing back with a vengeance. Panting breaths, claws on his back, sage eyes squeezed shut as the owner threw her head back and howled. A warm rush of material and the clanking sounds of metal. 

'Oh.' Carefully as he could, Larken untangled himself from Mouria, because goddamn she was like a space heater, and slipped from the bed. The cool air hit his naked body and he shivered, wrapping his arms around his torso as he turned to look at the sleeping troll in his bed. She was curled on her side, curly hair splayed like a halo around her head. Her lips were slightly parted, breathing light, and the long lashes that rested against her cheeks gave an occasional flutter. She was dreaming. He briefly wondered what about, then decided the next moment that he'd rather not know. 

A faint light filtered in through the slats of the window shutters. It was sundown, and he had to leave soon. Besides, he was starting to feel really creepy watching Mouria while she slept. Carefully picking his way around the creaky floorboards, the teal blood made his way to the bathroom and quietly shut the door behind him. It was a small room, simple and functional with a sink by the door, a shower stall against the far wall, and a toilet between them. A door on the right side opened to a tiny linen closet, which he pulled a towel from before starting the shower. 

He avoided looking at the mirror above the sink as the water warmed, and climbed in once he was sure he wouldn't freeze or broil. The shower curtain was black and when he pulled it closed, it left the small stall in a dim, soothing light. Oddly, he'd always preferred small spaces. The shower, a cave, a cluster of trees. Wide areas and open plains made him feel too vulnerable, too exposed. Larken dunked his head beneath the spray of the faucet and watched wispy threads of teal and green swirl down the drain. He didn't think much about it, seeing his own color and that of another wash away. He never really did. His bucket was filled and he was safe for another sweep There was nothing special about it. 

He didn't flinch when he heard the floor creak in his room. He didn't turn when the door opened, or the curtain pulled back and shut again. Claws on his back, lightly tracing down his spine made him shiver. A familiar flood of endorphins snapped him into action. He spun, grabbed Mouria's wrists and shoved her against the back wall. Her gasp reached his ears, but no further, swallowed by the water pounding against the tiles. Her sage eyes were wide and they watched as his own traced over her body from her messy, tangled hair to her toes. He was taking the brunt of the shower's spray, but a few flecks splashed onto her skin, making her glisten. 

And he still felt nothing. She was still dirty, her thighs and stomach streaked with teal and sage. Something. Not arousal: frustration. Not what he should be feeling. What he WANTED to feel. 

"Larken?" Her soft voice made him look up into her confused eyes. She knew something was wrong, but she didn't know what. She couldn't, and she wouldn't, because he wouldn't let her. Mouria was naked on front of him, covered in evidence of their union from the night before, and she wasn't special. All soft curves, perky breasts, plump ass. Cute, downright pretty to be honest, but not special. But she wanted to be. He could hear it in her words, see it in her eyes, feel it in her actions. 

Seconds ticked by and he didn't answer her. Her muscles tensed, the atmosphere beginning to feel uncomfortable. Her voice carried a thread of unease. 

"You said...we'd talk tonight. About us. About-mmph!" No talking. She couldn't speak if her mouth was busy, and he could keep it busy. His tongue slid over hers and she gave in, arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulling him close. She thought he was answering her. One hand slid down her waist, her hip, grabbed her thigh and lifted it around him. 

He wasn't going to talk. His fingers found her nook, felt her opening up for him. She moaned into his mouth and he swallowed it, drawing her breath into himself. No talking. 

Her other leg joined the first, and he joined them together. She was against the wall, ankles locked behind his back as he drove into her warmth. No more words, only sounds. Pleas and whispers and moans. 

He heard them. He felt nothing. 

Her feet were on the floor. He turned her, pushed her front into the wall, and took her again. Her cries echoed against the tile. One hand grasped her hip, pulling her back against him. She took the other, twined their fingers, stuck them to the wall as if displaying their relationship. 

There wasn't one. 

His mouth on her shoulder, teeth on her skin. Her cry was distant, like the splash of warmth around their feet. She shuddered and so did he, slamming into her body until they were both still. Her forehead resting against the tile. She was panting, limp against him, but she still clung to his hand like he was a life preserver and she was sinking. 

He was sinking, too. Drowning. Dying a little at a time. He wasn't special. Neither was she. She was just here, like him. 

That would have to do.


End file.
